Agents Of Interest
by Captain Yaple
Summary: With the Machine dead and the world 'corrected', who else will team Machine have to turn to? With a debt to the Machine, what will Coulson have to fear doing? With friends surrounding each other, what mountains will the Machine's assets move? Takes place right after S4 of Person Of Interest and before S3 of Agents of Shield
1. Past and Present

**AN: I've cut the prologue and the first chapter together, making a pretty sizable bit for people who are just starting to read this fanfic. It also makes it so according to fanfiction, chapter 2 isn't chapter 3 for example.**

 **To those just starting this fanfic, have fun! It gets better!**

 **Chapter 1: Past and Present**

 **[Day -192]**

"So you're telling me the weirdest thing you've ever seen Coulson do was not his 'alien writing on the wall' phase?" Skye's look of cheerful disbelief as she gripped her glass bottle nearly made May smile herself. Skye was one of the few things besides Coulson that made her smile occasionally, reminded her that she didn't usually.

May continued, glad that Coulson was elsewhere, "We were in Chicago, he started talking to a streetside security camera just like one of those crazy homeless people would"

"What? Was he telling it to take him to it's leader?" Hunter couldn't help but joke, causing Skye to break into a suppressed laugh at the suggestion.

"He wasn't pulling any verbal punches, that's for sure. He was pretty annoyed, by the looks of him" May took another swig of her beer. These evenings were nice, the evenings every few weeks when the good guys finally got a break. It was times like these when she was forced by her teammates to relax, which admittedly was nice. It wasn't as if she could force herself.

"So why was he annoyed at a security camera?" Skye chuckled softly. She loved stories May told about Coulson. She knew Simmons did, too. It was always funny when May portrayed Coulson like he would probably act and then Coulson would 'accidentally' barge in halfway and correct all the details of May's story. Coulson may not have appeared just yet, but she wanted to hear more of the story before he corrected her.

"Well, we were trying to figure out who this Hydra head was in this corporate conference in Chicago a couple months ago, we had no luck so far, and one hour left to find him. That's when Coulson got mad at the camera, as if he was talking to the person behind it, someone watching him specifically. I'll tell you, I thought I was going to have to drag him to the nuthouse. Then, a payphone rang nearby, Coulson ran to answer it, and then excused himself for almost the entire hour and then dragged the guy into an alley at the last minute. I don't know where he went-"

"I was at the library" Coulson interrupted, standing in the doorway to shock everyone with his entrance.

The standard reactions ensued. The "Director"s, the "sir"s, the glancing downward to avoid the awkwardness of having the person you're currently talking about interrupt. Even Skye fell victim to the group mentality, her ears eagerly waiting for Coulson's obligatory correction.

"For the record, the security camera looked funny, and I was making fun of it" Coulson began, Skye having to bite her tongue to prevent herself from bursting out in excessive laughter in the middle of his revised story. "After that, one of my sources sent me coded information based on books encoded with the dewey decimal system at the local library, thus rendering me the identity of the guy we were looking for" Coulson said procedurally, taking a few steps onward to his office.

"and of course he took so long because he was reading the books for character descriptions" May retorted, obviously not believing Coulson's story for a moment. The simplest of smiles on her face betrayed that information to him, a smile shared by close friends when one knew the other was full of shit. Coulson wouldn't tell May the reasoning behind it, and both of them knew that.

"I personally enjoyed 'Of Mice And Men'" Coulson turned, obviously finished with the conversation as his last remark sent the group into raucous laughter. Skye and Simmons weren't the only ones who enjoyed when Coulson attempted to revise the story May was telling about him. The door to Coulson's office opened as the director entered, brushing off the story like it was nothing. Just like keeping the American people from the truth, the key was to let them believe what they wanted to believe. If one denied the truth, then it was quite obviously the truth, and nothing anyone would say could change that.

Unfortunately, as he flicked on the light switch, remembering distinctly how he kept the lights on when he left, Coulson realized the truth might not be hidden for much longer.

Not much could shock Coulson into a practical momentary heart attack, not even May (He had gotten used to it, after all), but when a known psychopath in service to a technological god appears sitting at your desk, you'd find there's nothing else you could really do.

A quick movement of his foot shut the door rather suddenly, never mind what his team might think of him. His hand was quick to the lock, earning but a smile from the genius hacker, "what's the matter, Phil?" she gave him a pouty expression, weird for anyone who didn't know her and creepy to anyone who did, "still haven't told your team about your source of information?"

Coulson managed to get over the shock from Root's jump scare, "this is mainly curiosity talking, but how did you get in here?" The room was sealed when he wasn't here, Fury's toolbox was in a safe, unbeknownst to everyone else, his office was one of the most secure parts of the base. Added to the fact that Root wouldn't have been allowed _in_ the base in the first place...

Root reached to her chest and held up an ID badge on a lanyard, shaking it slightly to draw Coulson's attention to it, "I used the front door. Why? How do you come to work in the evening?" She smiled proudly, dropping it back down again. Coulson had been about to ask how she got it, but dismissed the question. Either she had hacked the database like she normally would or she had actually gone through the interview process without him noticing, which was equally likely. Coulson didn't blame Billy for giving Root a lanyard, but a pang of annoyance at the man went through him for letting her in the base.

Coulson resigned himself to a different question other than how, "why are you here?"

"Don't you remember the deal?" Root tilted her head, reminding Coulson of the deal he made, a deal he once briefly considered going back on. The social security numbers of all the heads of Hydra he was looking for, in exchange for his fealty to a supposed god. He hadn't even believed the woman until the first pay phone rang, leaving him with the social security number of Ward shortly before the death of Billy's brother Eric. It wasn't the machine's fault, he was simply too late to figure it out, too late to prevent Eric's death. Ever since he had nightmares about what the machine's requirement of fealty might mean, whether he would have to become an evil assassin for the machine, whether SHIELD would have to become another Hydra, or even if he had to hurt innocent people. He'd lie awake at night and try to ignore the urge to do more alien writing and be forced to think about it. No matter where he went he'd glance up at a security camera, any random security camera, and realize that the machine had held up it's end of the bargain, while he hadn't. Eventually he would have to be loyal to a very literal deus ex machina.

"I remember the deal. I remember that I'm going to have to work for your machine" Coulson looked Root in the eye, not backing down. He silently regretted the closed circuit surveillance camera he had installed in his office to make sure he could trust everybody on his team. It only just pointed down at the seat of his desk, rendering him out of view, but Root was in the eye of her god, and the machine could without a doubt hear every word he said. "Sorry if I didn't believe you when the deal was made, I might've dismissed the idea of reading the terms and conditions, but if it's anything evil your machine wants me to do-"

"it's not" Root interrupted, "come now, Phil, if the machine wanted to do anything evil, it wouldn't need you, or me, or any of the assets at it's disposal. Remember the flash crash earlier this year?"

"The stock market" Coulson nodded, his fists clenching slightly, "the machine caused that?"

"The machine fixed it, with some help, and some loss" Root paused, glancing to the side. Her vulnerability was only present for the smallest fraction of a second. She hurt, and she lost someone when they fixed the flash crash. "the flash crash was caused by another machine, known as Samaritan"

Coulson thought for a moment, "I've heard something about Samaritan, a whisper or two in the higher up branches of the government after the fall of SHIELD. Wasn't it the government's contingency when SHIELD fell?"

"more like Hydra's. Arnim Zola's algorithm determining a hit list for the three helicarriers was a precursor to Samaritan. Of course, the original programming was made decades before by a neutral programmer, forgotten, and then harnessed by a company called Decima Technologies, one of the many fronts of Hydra. They got government approval, but thankfully before Samaritan went up, we managed to sabotage one of the drives to account for some...errors in Samaritan's operating system. Your name? Your face? Ignored, like mine" Root smiled knowingly, her feet on Coulson's desk, making him slightly uncomfortable. Nobody put their feet on his desk, except him, of course, but Root was one of the few people that could scare him into silence.

"So that's how SHIELD has stayed hidden from Samaritan." Coulson glanced up at the camera which kept watch over his chair, "I suppose another thank you is in order", he looked back at Root, "so I take it SHIELD is now at your disposal?"

"Now now, Phil, SHIELD is at _your_ disposal, not hers" Root tilted her head again -god that smile was creepy when she did it. A normal person had doubts, questions, not Root. Root's smile was creepy because it displayed absolute certainty in what she was doing. Coulson did not want to end up like that -"however, it doesn't change the fact that you're at her disposal, so if SHIELD is at your disposal, then I guess you're technically right" She shrugged

"Well then, shall we get started?" Coulson sat down in front of his desk, resigning himself to his fate. The machine wasn't evil, according to Root. The machine had also been very helpful. He still didn't see why he shouldn't, apart from the obvious nudging voice in the back of his head that claimed it was all a trick. The social security numbers weren't, as they had predicted the identities of Hydra heads with 100% accuracy. Coulson couldn't assume anything without further evidence, and there was only one way to get further evidence.

"I'd love to, Phil, but this wasn't because the machine wanted something. She just wanted to give you a reminder to make sure you hadn't forgotten about your end of the bargain," Root took her feet off his desk, standing.

Coulson furrowed his brow in disappointment. Once he had come to terms with it, he was rather excited about fulfilling his intended purpose for the machine. It would relieve a lot of stress having finally gotten it done, making it so he wouldn't have to lie awake at night questioning his decision to do so. Anxiety about an event was always most prominent before the event, rather than during it, thus was it here. "What, am I not even guaranteed a sneak peek?"

Root smiled knowingly at Coulson as she walked around his desk, "not right now, we're about to be interrupted"

Coulson opened his mouth, confused, but was cut off as a sharp knock resonated through his office door. A single look at Root's knowing expression told him there would be no way he could sneak up on this woman. As he got up to open the door, the thought of any futile possibility of killing Root to end his obligation came to Coulson's mind. Rationally he knew that the Machine would find some way to exact revenge or, knowing the AI's modus operandi, would simply predict his attempt at murder and relay the information to Root, causing his own demise. Coulson had no intention on acting on this thought, sometimes thoughts came as they pleased, regardless of whether they were wanted.

Skye was waiting outside the door when Coulson unlocked and opened it, "Talbot's on the phone, he says he wants to talk to you." Skye said, noticing Root only seconds later, "oh hey Winifred" she smiled as if she were greeting a friend, "thought you'd have clocked out by now"

"Actually, I was talking to Director Coulson about some possible vacation time" Root talked in a higher pitched, more relaxed voice, smiling a whole lot more broadly than she had in the past several minutes. Coulson had to admire her change of face. She would make an excellent Shield agent with Broadway-level acting skills like that. "Not that I don't love the job and all, but I have some friends I need to take care of and they're kind of lost without me"

Skye nodded, smiling, "I know the feeling, sometimes I wonder how far off the mark these guys would be without me around" They both laughed, making Coulson feel a bit awkward as he cleared his throat, getting their attention.

"I will actually be leaving after I finish some paperwork in the lab, though. Gotta end the night on a high note." Root turned to Coulson, who had momentarily forgot her true identity as a psychopathic killer-for-hire on a mission from god, "You better talk with Talbot, I'm sure it'll be something important" she smiled innocently, not fooling Coulson.

"Have fun with your time off" he said dryly, "Who could possibly predict what might happen?" Coulson joked, making the corner of Root's mouth rise slightly as she turned to the door.

"So how long do you think you'll be gone?" Skye asked Root, following her through the doorway as she closed it, "I'm not saying I'll miss you, but you're the only one on the base who actually gets what I'm talking about most of th-" The door closed, cutting off Skye's last word. Coulson had also forgotten Skye was a pretty decent computer hacker herself, and with Root around, the two must be having conversations the other base personnel wouldn't understand.

Coulson would get to Talbot in a moment, Root's visit having put to rest some anxiety in his mind, but as he looked up into the lens of the security camera over his desk, he took the time to wonder how insane things with Root's machine might become.

There was at least someone- rather, some _thing_ \- in the room who knew the depth to which things could possibly go.

 **[Day 0]**

The past few months had been barely controlled chaos. Skye gained inexplicable powers, another sect of Shield had made themselves known by taking over Coulson's sect for a short time, Stark's robot, Ultron, had tried to destroy the world, thus requiring the initiation of Theta Protocol, Jaiying had tried to destroy Shield with a small army of powered people...quite a productive period of time, Coulson thought. The funny part was that even Hydra was refraining from growing any new heads. Surely, this meant that they were and Shield didn't know it yet, but that would be dealt with. For the moment, however, Shield had some breathing room and peace. For the moment.

Coulson relaxed, finding nothing impending on his schedule. How long ago had he last taken some well-needed vacation time? It was only natural that the next disastrous evil would pop up when he did. No rest for the wicked, after all. He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes, when a series of short knocks disturbed his short rest. Skye was standing in the doorway, looking at him expectantly.

"Hey, Coulson" she said, a peaceful tone in her voice. That was a good sign. "Mind coming to the loading dock? Some guy wants you to sign for something"

Coulson narrowed his eyes, "I never ordered anything, maybe someone from the other departments?" Fitz or Simmons, maybe, ordering stuff they needed for certain experiments. Why would his signature be required? It never had been.

"Yeah, that's what I thought, but apparently it was ordered for you, so..." Skye leaned against the doorframe, her eyebrows goading him into movement.

"Fine, but I'm a little hands off when it comes to signing forms" He held up his one good hand as he stood, earning a smile and a roll of the eyes from Skye.

"Will you quit with the jokes? They're a bit one-handed" Skye said, then paused, stopping. "I did not mean to say that, I'm serious" Coulson smiled at her reaction. Skye was a good agent, but sometimes she was less tactful than she normally was.

The walk to the loading dock was a relatively quick one, Skye filling Coulson in on daily updates, chatter about coworkers, etc. Coulson noticed the delivery man instantly when they walked outside, a name tag identifying him as "Dennis" on his chest, holding a clipboard, "Phil Coulson?" He asked, checking the clipboard and holding it out to him, "sign here"

"I never order pizza, much less..." He looked down at the clipboard, "various high quality computer supplies?" Coulson narrowed his eyes at Dennis and turned to look at Skye, "Do you know anything about this?" He asked, meriting only a shake of Skye's head, to which he turned back to Dennis, "Am I required to sign it or can you just leave with it? If I'm required, signature might be a little messy" He gestured to his stump of a wrist, still in its sling.

Dennis chuckled, "you should get a hook and an eye patch" he joked

"That's what I've been telling him" Skye spoke up, ignoring the look Coulson was definitely giving her.

"As for if you don't wanna sign, there's another cosigner on the order, Wi-" Dennis began, interrupted by a high-pitched voice from afar.

"That's for me! Sorry!" Coulson turned his head and his heart sank into his chest as Root jogged across the street and up to the building, lunch bag tucked under her arm as she hurried over.

"Winifred!" Skye smiled cheerfully, enveloping the other woman in a friendly hug, "finally back?"

"to stay, thank god" Root gave Coulson a knowing glance as she turned to Dennis, holding her lunch bag behind her for Skye to hold while she grabbed the pen provided with the clipboard, glancing over her shoulder nonchalantly, as if she was being followed.

"I take it you're Winifred Burkle?" Dennis smiled, "maybe next time you should let your boss know when you're ordering something, it'll make for less confusion"

"I know I should, I just like to surprise him sometimes" Root finished her signature, handing Dennis the clipboard, "give my regards to Caleb" She smiled as Dennis tipped his hat to them, opening the back of his truck to have the precious cargo unloaded by the base's staff.

A nagging thought tugged at Coulson's mind, "Exactly how much did all this cost?"

"Not a cent, I know the CEO of the company that manufactures this stuff" Root smiled, "he's more than willing to help me out whenever I need."

Skye nodded, "so, if I were to mention my need for a new laptop...?"

"I wish, Skye, but this kinda stuff is for a special project, and if I were to order stuff for personal reasons, that'd just be dishonest" Root turned to Coulson, "also, some new clients of ours should show up soon, tomorrow at the earliest"

"Wait" Skye interjected, "Shield does clients now?"

Coulson shrugged. Shield wasn't a mercenary group, serving clients to survive. They were a cause, a banner for keeping the world safe. Coulson was just as confused as Skye was, but his deal with the machine made him go with it, "apparently we do"

"They're the ones who are going to be administrating this new project" Root explained, starting to walk off inside the base with Skye and Coulson following, "it's a new kind of advanced supercomputer I've been interested in working on"

"Advanced supercomputer?" Skye raised an eyebrow, "I'd love to check that out"

Root gave a glancing smile at her friend, the thought occurring to her that, aside from Reese, Harold, and detective Fusco, she really didn't have any friends. Sameen was...well, Sameen was Sameen, enough said. Skye was one of the first lasting friends she'd ever had since grade school. They'd only hung out three times, now included, but the two of them were rather close, a type of friendship that just happened without any work having to be put into it. Skye Root didn't want to lose, on account of being the one casual normal (though neither of them were normal) thing in her life.

"Unfortunately, access is going to be restricted" Root didn't turn back, not wanting to see Skye's disappointed face, it could be quite tempting to give in to her at times, and Root didn't exactly want Skye in on her job. "For the most part, access and critical knowledge will be with our clients, Director Coulson, and me, and I'll be the only Shield agent doing the work with our clients. They're perfectly capable of accomplishing their objective on their own, they just need a suitable investor to provide a place to do so"

"So we're investors now?" Coulson asked, stopping outside his office.

"Well, when you put it that way-" Root began, cut off by Coulson.

"when you put it that way, it seems like we'll be getting something out of this" Coulson hadn't meant to phrase it _quite_ that way, but nevertheless, it slipped. He reminded himself that just as Root had to act, so did he. He had to act like she was a normal agent under his command, and he knew if Skye had hired on clients without his permission for a project he knew nothing about, he wouldn't be easily forgiving. "I doubt we're doing this out of the kindness of our hearts"

Root paused, her cheerful demeanor interrupted by a patronizing look. Luckily, she caught herself before Skye could notice, "As I said, Director" she began slowly, "the project is on a pretty need-to-know basis, so I would love to elaborate on it's advantages privately in your office" she said, a side glance given to Skye.

Skye rolled her eyes, "so I take it that means you're not going to tell me anything?" Root shook her head.

"No, sadly. I do enjoy working with you" Skye seemed to smile at that.

"No time like the present, then" Coulson interrupted, gesturing to his office with his good arm.

Root smiled at Skye, "catch you later!" She began to walk past Coulson, but felt Skye's hand on her arm.

"Hey!" Skye suddenly looked very nervous, pulling her hand away from Root's arm. Coulson had long figured out the look of when Skye was holding it down, looking calm and focused on the outside while absolute chaos reigned inside her head, "I was thinking, maybe we could hang out sometime this weekend? Friday, perhaps?"

Root looked a bit taken aback, surprised by Skye's offer, but regained her composure, "sure, I guess." She returned Skye's smile, "I don't...normally get out much, sorry"

"No, it's fine" Skye nodded, "I can understand that" she crossed her arms, "I don't typically get out much either"

Coulson subconsciously decided that was enough, clearing his throat and turning to walk into his office. Root and Skye said their goodbyes, and the moment Root walked in, Coulson closed the door. "Would I be incorrect in assuming that your associates are our new clients?" He asked, knowing there was no need of formalities with the servant of god.

"Secondary assets of the machine" Root explained, her voice easily dropping back into it's normal tone, "primary assets handled the primary function of the machine, that being stopping incidents of national terrorism. Secondary assets do the same, but with the irrelevant numbers. Ordinary murders and all." She filled in for Coulson as she sat in the chair in front of his desk. "The government has control of primary operations, while your new client has control of secondary operations."

Coulson nodded as he sat down in his chair, thinking on this new information, "Seems a bit complicated"

"Normally we just call them relevant and irrelevant"

"To what?"

"National security" Root answered, "those numbers the government handles are relevant, and those handled by our little group are irrelevant"

Coulson thought some more, "you said you were something different" he observed

"The machine had me classified as an analog interface. I speak for it, and run errands for it, like establishing connections in shield" Root put her feet up on the desk, and just like last time, Coulson was hesitant to stop her. Some things never changed.

One small part of Root's explanation bugged Coulson, a small tingle when one noticed a small detail that meant so much, "when you say 'had'..." He began, then stopped, the implication clicking in his head. Coulson had a hunch why Root had checked to make sure no one had followed her, but if it was true...

Root nodded solemnly, "The machine is dead" her pained words sent Coulson's heart into his stomach, thankfully coming back up with her next phrase, "or so Samaritan believes"

Coulson raised an eyebrow, "I'm guessing long story?" He asked, leaning back as Root simply nodded. If there was one thing he could always assume, it was the fact that there's always one hell of a story.

One long story later, Coulson looked into Root's eyes, analyzing her. The absolute look she used to have was gone, replaced with fear, hope, desperation. It occurred to Coulson that Root might've relied on the machine as a religious person would rely on god. How would a religious person react when given definitive proof their god was dead? Root's god was, more or less, dead, and even if Coulson was opposed to allowing Root to use the Playground to revive the machine, he doubted Root would take no for an answer. Not only that, but Samaritan was still active, and having the machine on their side...

"Alright" he shrugged, "I guess you have my approval to do whatever's necessary. As you said, Samaritan is Hydra, and that makes it our enemy, too"

Root smiled, a genuine heartfelt smile, "thank you, Director" she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Coulson recognized the emotion behind those simple words, and knew why. If what Root told him was true, Shield was the only possible safe haven for her to go to. Coulson couldn't help but smile.

Suddenly the door opened, May walking in, "Coulson, w-" she paused, watching Root quickly take her feet off Coulson's desk. Coulson knew the look in her eyes, he knew that she was onto him. "Winifred" she gave a small friendly smile, changing demeanor with ease, "Skye didn't tell me you were back"

"Sorry" Root smiled, "Coulson wanted to catch me up on what's been going on"

"Well, if I could have a word with Coulson" May said, asking a question with her words, but not her tone.

"I have equipment to put together anyways. Just got back today and all" Root stood, "Thanks again, Director" she smiled, walking out as May sharply shut the door behind her. Coulson winced. May didn't look happy.

"Okay, I may have overlooked her sketchy background when she applied, but you never let anyone put their feet on your desk." May's stare was cold, demanding answers. She was right, and had good reason. Coulson never even let May put her feet on his desk.

"Sketchy background?" Coulson deflected

"Didn't you even notice she's using the credentials of a dead woman?" Now _that_ was interesting. All it would take to unveil her cover would be a picture of the dead woman. Sloppy for sure, which didn't sound like Root. It sounded like something the CIA would do.

"So what's this Winifred Burkle actually look like?" Coulson asked, curious.

"Funnily enough, just like her." May explained, "but I'm not explaining anything else"

"What? Why not?" Coulson narrowed his eyes.

"Because you haven't explained anything on your end." Damn, May knew how to get his attention and force him into doing something, "she put her feet on your desk, Coulson, and you let her. Either you're partaking in a forbidden office relationship, which given your resemblance to Colin Mochrie is extremely unlikely-"

"Hey!"

"or," May continued, ignoring Coulson's outburst, "you're afraid of her"

Coulson stopped, clenching a fist to ignore his desire to deny it instantly, "it's complicated"

"Is it?" May asked sarcastically, giving Coulson a look as if asking him to explain everything.

"it's a long story" Coulson leaned back in his chair, "and you're gonna make me tell it, aren't you?"

May simply nodded, stonefaced as ever as Coulson began to explain.


	2. Alliances

**A/N: Okay, I'm doing this a week in advance, but I have to remember to pace myself. If you're reading this earlier than a week from when I posted the last chapter, I have no excuse. This chapter is truly where the plot thickens and the story becomes good enough to merit reading more. Wait...if I want people to give a shit about this story early on...?**

 **Well, I guess I'll just post it the same night. Chapter three can wait one week, as that's not even transcribed. I feel pumped, and sleep deprived. Screw it, here I go.**

 **I have a feeling you'll love this.**

 **Chapter 2: Alliances**

 **[Day 1]**

A duo of knocks permeated the office, shocking Coulson out of his train of thought. A slight turn of his head from the vantage point of looking out his window brought the first visitor into his field of vision.

He was around Coulson's height, perhaps a little shorter, wore glasses, held a briefcase, and was dressed in a casual suit and tie. Normally from a businessman one could expect their suit to be adjusted in certain ways (cuffs rolled back however many inches, shoes polished in a whorl pattern, etc.) The look of exhaustion on his face confirmed the betrayed notion of not being the businessman type, which was a good sign. Businessman types were typically in it for the profit of the company, not any specific cause.

The man behind him, however, Coulson stiffened, developing an immediate dislike for him. The man in question held himself like Ward. No, he corrected himself, this man was not Ward. They were the same type, holding themselves up straight, arms close to their waist in case they needed to use their weapon, and then there was the poker face. No matter how much this man reminded him of the man who had betrayed them on numerous occasions, he had to treat this man like he was someone Coulson had just met. However, Coulson was still a bit put off by the similarities.

Besides, if these men were the ones Root mentioned, he was going to have to deal with Not-Ward anyway. Might as well get it over with.

"Is this Director Coulson's office?" The spectacles man asked, stepping into the room with his companion (or, for lack of a better designation, guard dog.)

"Depends on whether you have an appointment," Coulson jested naturally, turning his full body to face them. The man in the glasses seemed natural to genuine handshakes, or rather, fake ones that would be believed by anyone not good at reading people. "I'm Director Coulson of Shield, and you might be?" He asked, shifting his handshake to Not-Ward. If Coulson had to guess, he'd easily be able to ascertain the brain from the brawn. After all, in every team, someone had to stay back and do background research while relaying information to the agent in the field.

Not-Ward's handshake was cold, procedural as if done hundreds of times without regard for believability. Most civilians certainly wouldn't notice, caught up in their everyday lives, concerned with everyday business.

"A pleasure to meet you, Director," the spectacled man said quickly, Not-Ward closing the door behind them, "my name is Harold Sparrow, and this is my associate, Mr. Riley." He gave a scant gesture to Not-Ward, the man nodding in turn. Mr. Riley's body language just screamed 'secret agent', it was a wonder his cover identity wasn't blown in the first week.

Coulson nodded, "I was told you'd have a last name like that," he blurted out, a look of surprise coming on Sparrow's face with a look of concerned apprehension surfacing on Not-Ward's. Coulson continued, making his way behind his desk, "you can relax, we're not in league with Samaritan. Far from it," he reassured them, watching their shoulders relax.

"I must say, that is somewhat reassuring, Director Coulson," Sparrow sat down in front of Coulson's desk, "if I may ask, how much...?" He trailed off, the question evident on his lips.

"Root told me everything," Coulson replied, sitting in his own chair. Not-Ward probably would've preferred to stand, but after a moment, he sat down as well. He didn't show it, but his eyes bore the exhaustion evident on his companion's face. "However," Coulson got their attention with the classic negative adverb, "she didn't tell me your names." He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his desk.

Sparrow paused before giving into the obligation. Coulson had known the names were fake immediately. Not-Ward's was too common while Sparrow's was the name of a bird (which Root had mentioned specifically). Sparrow spoke finally, "My apologies, Director Coulson. Sometimes you just don't know who you can trust"

Coulson resisted the urge to chuckle, glancing at Not-Ward, "Let's just say I know the feeling..." He trailed off, looking back at Sparrow, the obvious implied question easily picked out by the other man.

"Ah, sorry" Sparrow gave a friendly smile, "my real name is Harold Finch, an-"

"Again with the bird names?" Coulson blurted out. He realized that when Root had told him about them, whether or not Harold used his real name or an alias, her warning of a bird name would be correct. Coulson then realize he'd rudely interrupted, "sorry, continue."

Finch paused, then continued, ignoring Coulson's passing remark, "and this is my associate, Mr. Reese." Reese nodded, and Coulson noticed his lips curl upwards slightly in the wake of the effect Coulson's remark made on Finch. Apparently Coulson wasn't the only one to notice. Maybe he could end up tolerating Not-Ward's company, after all.

Harold's next words were cut off as the door opened and closed, the men turning to see May, who was looking directly at Coulson. "Just thought I should be here for this," She said simply, Harold turning back to Coulson with a questioning look.

"Ah," Coulson nodded, "May, this is Mr. Finch and Mr. Reese," he gestured to each of them in turn, "they're our new clients. Gentlemen, this is my second-in-command, Agent May." Reese had given her a silent nod of acknowledgement, while Harold had stood and offered his hand. It was kinda funny to see May give Harold an almost homicidal glare, intimidating him into awkwardly sitting back down. Reese had noticed, doing his almost nonexistent smile again. He hadn't heard the man speak a word, but Coulson liked the man a lot more than he had first liked Ward. Reese had a sense of humor, and enjoyed poking fun at his coworker (or rather, watching other people do so. Whether he enjoyed it himself was yet to be determined.) Coulson was the same way with Ward, but Ward had always mentally rolled his eyes at his terrible jokes. He found himself looking forward to working with Not-Ward a lot more than he had with Ward.

"Coulson tells me you have a mass surveillance AI in a briefcase" May sat down on a stool near Coulson's desk after dragging it to Coulson's side.

Finch looked at May, "yes, that is correct, Agent May," he looked back to Coulson, "does anyone else on your staff know?"

"Only May and I," Coulson affirmed, "the only other person on the base that knows is your associate, Root." He explained, the pair's eyes widening slightly as they exchanged a glance.

"Certainly explains the warm welcome," Reese's voice was barely a whisper, and Coulson was on the verge of straining to hear him. For a brief moment he wondered if Reese was being sarcastic, but dismissed the thought. Besides, Coulson was pretty sure the content of Reese's words determined sarcasm, not the tone. That was the real mark of an expert practitioner in the subject.

Finch gave Reese a look, as if trying to judge the same thing, then turned his attention back to Coulson, "as it is, Director," he continued, "I would like it very much if it stayed that way"

Coulson straightened slightly, "with all due respect, Mr. Finch-"

Finch held up his hand, stopping Coulson mid-sentence, "please, Harold," he said with another friendly smile.

Coulson nodded, continuing, "with all due respect, Harold, you should know I have members of my team that could help you rebuild the machine. With their help your work would certainly be done faster." Coulson knew the answer. Root had told him as much, and seemingly agreed.

Harold was contemplating his offer, but not for long, "with all due respect, Direct-"

It was Coulson's turn to interrupt, "please, Phil," he smiled, noticing the look exchanged by Reese and May in his periphery. He remembered when Ward and May started sleeping together back before Shield fell, wondering if he was going to have to separate her and Not-Ward now. That was going to be odd if that ever happened; Coulson hoped it wouldn't.

"Phil," Harold continued, "with all due respect, I and Ms. Groves are perfectly capable of handling this task ourselves." He noted the looks of confusion May and Coulson were obviously giving off, "you would know her as Root"

Coulson furrowed his brow, "her name is Groves?" According to Coulson, she'd always been Root. For some reason he never assumed she had a real name.

"What does she go by here, pray tell?" Harold asked, legitimately curious.

"Winifred" May's answer had made their eyes widen, but in recognition, not surprise. Apparently more bizarre things had happened.

"Last name?" Reese asked, his voice still a low whisper. Coulson had to wonder if he failed to get the role of Batman. He certainly would've acted better than Christian Bale.

"Her last name here is Burkle," May replied, unfazed by the question. That had gotten an effect from the two men, who exchanged a glance.

"Burkle isn't the name of a computer geek from history, is it?" Reese whispered to Finch, putting his hand on his chin as Coulson visualized him combing through his memories of historical knowledge.

"Not as I recall, Mr. Reese." Finch replied, looking back at Reese, Coulson making the connection.

"Lemme guess, she does programmer names like you do bird names?" Coulson chuckled softly under his breath at the random absurdity of it all.

"Not all the time, just when it suits her," Harold informed calmly. The man's entire face was a facade, as if his identity was several layers deeper than it should be. Any normal person automatically kept their underlying layers hidden out of instinct, but more or less when partaking in everyday life, people were open about themselves. Coulson could tell Harold was different (one has to be to create a god, after all), his deviancy exposed in the guarded paranoia he held. Harold got along with Reese as an old friend likely due to the fact that he probably was. A man like harold would take a great deal, Coulson estimated, to open up to anyone.

"Back to business," Harold continued, "I believe if we're simply allowed whatever we need, we'll keep our heads down enough for you to continue your normal operations without worry."

"So you're saying there is a probable danger to Shield?" May raised an eyebrow, but otherwise remained stonefaced.

Harold took a moment to compose himself and resume speaking, "undoubtedly yes, but if what I'm told about our enemies and your enemies being one and the same, I believe no matter the danger to Shield, the advantage gained will certainly aid in ridding the world of Hydra once and for all." Reese seemed surprised at Harold (rather, as surprised as his face would show), the man having gradually increased his tone to a dedicated one by the end of his explanation. Coulson wondered if this opinion was genuine or for the simple sake of persuasion, not entirely able to tell.

May nodded, "if it's okay with Director Coulson," the way she said his name nearly made him wince. This was definitely worse than when she found out about Theta protocol. Then again, May was rational. Despite the danger, she likely understood and possibly agreed, despite her disapproval with him lying...again. "I suppose we have an arrangement," she looked at Coulson, able to speak volumes with a single glare. ' _How the hell could you let yourself get into this?'_ , it seemed to ask most of all.

He looked back towards Finch, nodding, "I'm convinced," he gave a convincing smile of approval to both men.

"Excellent," Finch returned it eagerly. And Coulson had assumed him no businessman at first. Businessmen typically thought of what was necessary to get the other side to agree. Coulson did in fact believe Harold's summary of the benefits of reviving the Machine, but Coulson couldn't help wondering if Harold really agreed, despite seeming completely onboard. That, of course, was the kicker. Whenever anything was too good to be true, you could bet your ass it wasn't.

Besides, it wasn't as if Coulson had any choice in the matter. A debt was a debt, even with an all-seeing god of ones and zeroes.

"I suppose now my couch is yours," Coulson observed. They were still dangerous, but the benefit outweighed the risk even if Coulson's hands weren't tied, his decision made for him.

Finch gave a satisfied nod, "Until Samaritan is dealt with, I suppose it is." He stood, everyone else in the room matching his action, "now, I trust Ms. Groves has everything ready for us to begin our work?"

"You're asking the wrong man, Harold," Coulson smirked, covering his own paranoia of whatever Root could possibly be doing within the base. Worst case scenario, she was rigging claymores underneath his bed. He brushed that thought aside as he gave Harold a final handshake, "I think she's been installing your hardware in one of the labs. Try asking Fitzsimmons, they'll probably know."

"Fitzsimmons," Harold repeated, "where would I find them?" He asked, somewhat confused. Fitzsimmons wasn't inherently a name in and of itself, on account of being a strange combination of two separate names. Coulson understood the newcomer's confusion.

"May can show you around," Coulson gave a friendly smile. At least May could keep an eye on them discreetly. It certainly wouldn't hurt to keep up on their daily routine (not to mention keep her off his back for a short amount of time). Reese probably would be the one to notice, being CIA as well as ex-military, while Harold might not notice, but still suspect it on principle.

"Thank you, Phil," Harold replies, Coulson mentally wincing when Harold called him by his first name. It didn't sound bad, just weird, considering how everyone called him 'sir', 'Director', or just plain 'Coulson'. Some things you didn't notice you were used to until it was gone.

Coulson forced himself to reply, "you're most welcome," he said, sitting back down at his desk as May led the two gentlemen from his office. Coulson thought it a win-win, repaying his debt to the machine and potentially eliminating a dangerous Hydra asset in one fell swoop. It was almost exhilarating, he thought, glancing up at the security camera above his desk like he had every day since Root's arrival. The red light on the camera blinked, but no one was watching, like when a person smiled while they were dead inside. The camera in his office was easily hidden, closed circuit, feeding solely into a vcr behind one of the shelves, certifying its inability to be hacked. Yet the machine had hacked it. He was a bit paranoid that Samaritan would do the same, but Root had assured him otherwise.

He had to admit it felt comfortable knowing his god had been watching out for him.

Reese closed the door to Coulson's office, taking a few quick steps to catch up to Finch, who was busy limping after Agent May.

"Director looks like he's seen a lot," he whispered in Finch's ear, the both of them pulling back so that they could have a discreet word at the same time they would be considered to be following Agent May.

"Yes," Finch muttered back, "if you'll pardon my attempt at humor, Mr. Reese, I daresay he could use a hand around here." Finch looked around at the labs as they walked by. The Shield dataleak that occurred when Hydra's first version of Samaritan had been defeated revealed that Shield had been experimenting with alien technology gained from previous attacks on Earth. The technology in the labs, however, seemed more human than alien -as far as he could tell, that is. Unless explicitly told, he would never be able to tell.

Reese smirked slightly at Finch's quip, "I daresay you're the last one of us to become human, Finch," He teased, knowing his own style of humor differed from that of his old friend. All of them had gone through something traumatizing that changed them since Samaritan came online.

For Root, it was watching Shaw die and having to sit by never knowing whether for not she really was. Since then she had become more intent on her personal revenge, on saving the machine, and on making sure nobody else died like Shaw. He remembered her telling him about Harold's plan to nullify Samaritan by uploading a virus just feet away from an input point. As a result, he would've been shot, killed, and Decima -Hydra, rather -would've likely built a new evil machine.

Fusco was...well, Fusco was Fusco. He had been the most human out of any of them, apart from Carter. A year ago, Reese would've paused mid-step in grief for her, the second woman he loved, after Jessica. Reese had been gunned down with her, getting the lesser of the injuries, which were still life-threatening as he sought out her killer, hell or high water, in a blaze of vengeance. Finch and the others had managed to stop him before he killed Simmons' boss, Alonzo Quinn (who after a well-constructed threat, gave him information of Simmons' plan to escape the country), Fusco staying behind and arresting Simmons properly, like Carter would've wanted. Simmons had died in the hospital soon after, presumably from the beating Fusco gave him. He never did thank Lionel about that, but he would next he had the opportunity.

Recently, after hunting a murderer and his murderee into the cold snowy wilderness, Reese had gotten shot. Through the cold and the pain, Carter's ghostly image had appeared to him, egging him on, forcing him to get to the car and get warm. Even then she asked him questions he didn't want to answer, but unlike her habits with him in real life, she didn't let up until she got an answer, no matter how many times he brushed it off. It was then, through the haze of near-death, that he had his epiphany: The one thing he hadn't done in his life was live in it. Even back with Jessica, he had always thought forward with her, imagining the day when the doorbell would ring and she would slump against the wall, crying over him. Unlike with now, with Iris, he never thought solely on the moment, which he now could.

When he had gotten back, only Elias, the originally controller of organized crime in New York City after he had deposed the five dons and before the recent rise of Dominic and the Brotherhood, had the time to ask him about his practically overnight transformation. Despite the fact that he was technically a bad guy, Elias had a respect that transcended the friendship between him and Reese. He wondered how it had turned out between Elias and DOminic after they were arrested. Yet another thing to check up on later, but not now, there was too much going on now to worry on what had been left behind.

A year ago, Reese would've paused in grief for Carter, but Reese was at peace now. He had passed the point of weeping, and now gave a nostalgic smile to himself while Harold gave his reply.

"both the last and the first," Harold retorted quietly. Reese had forgotten what had practically been Harold's curse. Reese knew for certain it would drive him crazy, building a machine to save lives and then helplessly watching as the irrelevant numbers came ringing in. Harold had hired Reese for that reason -to satisfy his curse by having Reese act. Harold continued, changing the subject, "the good director seems less than trustworthy, but he apparently owes a debt to the machine, which may account for his nervous behavior," Harold explained, "he also seems a bit concerned about what he's gotten into, which is a good sign."

Reese gave a scant nod, "good guys usually are." Their escort gave a fast glance back at them, "our new friend doesn't trust us at all," he muttered even more quietly.

"You noticed?" Finch glanced over at Reese momentarily, "I'd be surprised if she trusted us at all. If she does, she most certainly doesn't like it," Harold observed, wondering if Director Coulson's offer of a guide was really a ploy meant to postpone the lashing May would give him. Either that, or it had already happened and he was trying to avoid her, which could be equally lightly.

"Director Coulson seemed a bit put off by me," Reese altered the subject slightly, but not by much.

"I noticed that, too," Harold said as Agent May turned into one of the labs on their right, "any theories why?"

Reese shrugged, "maybe it was something I said." He smiled at Harold, the other man giving him a look that equated a normal person's exasperated eyeroll before following Agent May into the lab. Some things never changed.


	3. Introductions

**AN: Yes, I promised to do this last night, but this is probably going to be the shortest gap between when I promise to update versus when I actually do. Ah, mid-terms.**

 **To the people who are asking why this doesn't have more reviews...well, you can fix that. How do you guys think I get more people to know about Person Of Interest? Another reason why, of course, is because of the weirdness with the prologue and the first chapter. I feel I'll probably cut and paste them into one so that 's idea of chapters line up with mine.**

 **In the meantime, enjoy!**

 **Chapter 3: Introductions**

 **[Day 1]**

Skye's hands drew the cold from the lab's metal counter, putting the young woman back on her train of thought, "what's a good place for a first date?" she asked aloud, Jemma Simmons the only one around to hear aside from a lab assistant in Simmons' department who walked in at the last moment. Ah well, he could be another source of information from the male perspective. Of course, Skye wasn't male, nor her date, but even so, every little bit helped.

Jemma looked at Skye, diverting her attention from the microbial sample of something-or-other DNA under the microscope, "depends," she said simply, her gaze more inquisitive now than with her science, "are we talking theory or practice?" She raised an eyebrow.

Skye sighed slightly, her friends would eventually find out on their own anyway, "practice..." she gave Simmons a knowing look, causing her to drop her attention completely. Chances that might've been a bad decision? Highly, based on Simmons' ecstatic grin.

"Alright, who?" She stood, leaning on the counter across from Skye. Skye was glad to see their friendship hadn't fallen apart over the front of mutual appreciation of friends' romantic relationships. They had somewhat diverted when Simmons was made aware that Skye had gained freakish powers she had apparently already had from an alien artifact known as the Diviner, but the mistrust had subsided since then. Skye was glad for that, she wanted to be the first to know when Fitzsimmons actually happened, romance-wise.

"Well..." Skye dragged it out, building suspense for her friend while mustering her own courage, "you know how Winifred got back yesterday?"

Simmons shrugged, "yes, and what does tha-" she stopped abruptly, bursting into one of the widest grins Skye had seen, "did you really?"

Skye nodded, then shook her head, grimacing, "yes...and no. She may not know it's a date, but..."

"hold on, you didn't tell her it was a date?" Simmons gaped, "and how do you think she'll feel when she finds out that it is?"

"I hope somewhat positively" Skye bit her lip, casting her eyes downwards, "I honestly was not thinking about that part." Skye managed to glance back up at Simmons.

"Okay, maybe we can fix this before a disaster happens, because I was once asked to meet with a friend and didn't know he had feelings for me and that was a rather messy evening which I'd rather not get into." Simmons put her hand on the side of her face, pacing as her speech quickened like normally when she was excited about something. Skye wondered what the female equivalent of a wingman would be called. A wingwoman? That word didn't sound right, too many similar syllables. No matter what, it applied here.

"First things first: innocent location," Skye said, racking her brain for any ideas at all. The mind blanks most when under pressure, Skye realized, and promptly cursed her own.

Simmons tapped her chin, suddenly snapping her fingers, "Terrence," she turned to face the lab assistant who'd walked in. Rather than take interest in the conversation, he had just continued working, putting Simmons' microbial sample back into refrigerated containment when he realized she would be distracted with such an important topic of conversation, "if you were taking a girl on a date who didn't know she was on a date, where would you take her?"

Terrence looked up from the Shield-issued laptop, "you're asking me for dating advice?" he chuckled, "well, if I was in that scenario, which I really am glad I'm not, you obviously don't want anything overly romantic, but at the same time, you want something fun you'd do with a friend, like taking her to a roller rink or something like that"

"So in lieu of a roller rink..." Skye trailed off, no longer in panic mode, which allowed her to think. Several possible options came to the front of her mind, but she brushed them aside as easily as they'd come forth.

"Roller rink..." Simmons muttered, "I suppose that could work, in a pinch."

"What?" Skye gave her an incredulous look, "seriously?"

"For a first date, Skye, of all things, it's a great idea!" Simmons retorted.

Skye opened her mouth to shut down that idea, having had a bad experience with roller skating as a child, when a new voice sounded through the lab, "what's a great idea?"

Winifred walked around the corner, and Skye's suddenly frantic train of thought halted as she noticed a dog walk to stand next to Winifred, who was holding the leash.

"Are you allowed to bring your dog onto the base?" Skye blurted out as Simmons knelt, intercepting the dog.

"Why hello there!" She said, letting the dog sniff her hand before she made a direct approach to pet it, "who's this?" Simmons glanced upward as the dog licked her hand.

Winifred smiled warmly, "this is Bear. Bear, _zit_ ," she said, the dog sitting as Skye couldn't help but smile, leaning down to pet him as well.

"Okay, what's with the weird foreign language?" Skye couldn't help but ask, Bear seemingly enjoying his newfound attention.

"Belgian Malinois are only trained in Dutch, and as for why he's allowed on the base, he's not my dog," Winifred explained, giving him an isolated scratch or two on the head, "He actually belongs to our clients."

Skye straightened with interest, "our clients own a dog?" Skye asked, now having a good idea that they were likely trustworthy. The way a pet reacted to other people could show a lot about it's owner, and Bear didn't exactly give off an aura of 'bad guy's dog'.

Winifred nodded, "we can expect them once they've finished discussing things with director Coulson."

"Is it just one person or...?" Simmons stood as well, trailing off as she crossed her arms.

"Two people, I'll let the introduce themselves." Winifred said simply, "in the meantime, I need to grab some of Bear's things from the car," She managed a slight smile, "mind watching him for a bit?"

"Not at all!" Simmons smiled, leaning down to rub Bear's ears. Bear opened his mouth, panting happily as he tilted his head up, licking at her hand, making her giggle. "Who's a good boy?" she smiled as she petted Bear, "this is much better than our old idea to install that fish tank."

Terrence looked over, "wait, we're holding off on the fish tank idea?" he asked, making Skye hold back laughter. She remembered back when Jemma had confessed their plans to build a fish tank in the bus, as well as Director Fury unknowingly denying them permission for the very idea. Hopefully now with Coulson as director, they might actually get a fish tank. Skye wondered whether that would be a good or a bad thing.

As it turned out, Fitz had wandered in with everyone focused on Bear, "wait, we're not doing the fish tank?" Skye couldn't help but laugh. He actually seemed rather disappointed.

"Get over here, Fitz!" Simmons called over, noting his inability to see Bear over the counter.

He sighed, "what is it this time, Jemma?" He asked in an almost exasperated tone as he walked over, pausing in mild surprise when he saw Bear, "is that...a Belgian Malinois?" He asked curiously, approaching the room's center of attention.

"Yep!" Simmons beamed, "Bear, this is Fitz. Fitz, Bear," She guided his hand in front of Bear, Winifred catching on and ordering Bear to shake with a single word of Dutch.

"Aw..." Fitz rubbed his neck, "he's absolutely adorable. It was very nice to meet you, Bear," he grinned, then jerked his head up as Winifred cleared her throat expectantly. "Right!" he stammered slightly, standing up, "everything's installed as you wanted it. Mack's just working on finalizing the power system and then you can start on...what did you say it was?"

Winifred smiled, "I didn't, but thank you, Fitz"

"Are you ever going to tell us?" Skye said under her breath. Okay, so maybe she was a little bitter about not knowing, but quite frankly, one more classified program wouldn't make that much of a difference. She knew the others felt the same way, but one of Skye's defining qualities she was proud of was her tendency to not let things go that easily. She definitely liked it when Fitzsimmons got all awkward when she drafted them into her truth-seeking schemes. No, not schemes, _private ops missions._ Skye had never had to include her POM's in any of her reports, but if she ever did, she would name them that. Rather, when she did it after her date with Winifred. She wanted answers, but she didn't want to ruin things with Winifred just yet.

Winifred shrugged, "probably never, if it works properly"

"Got it," Skye nodded, "I just have to sabotage whatever you're doing, then you'll tell me?" She raised a humorous eyebrow as Winifred smiled -god she hated that smile. More to the point, she hated falling in love. It usually never worked out for her.

Winifred drew two fingers across her lips, shooting Skye an even more teasing smile, "sorry Skye, I'm very thorough in my work"

That was it. Skye was going to seduce it out of her.

May's voice gave Skye pause, "good thing you work for us, Winifred."

Skye stiffened at the sight of the taller man. The man with the glasses, in her mind, merited merely a cursory glance. The taller man was Ward's type. Skye had barely dealt with Ward in the past year. She had fought beside him that one mission they went on to rescue Agent Peterson and Lincoln from Hydra, and he had brought her to her biological dad (while allowing Hydra to try and kill her friends once she was gone), but Skye remembered, as well as everyone else, she expected, the betrayal Ward had left them with.

Skye took a breath, calming herself down. This man, she had to tell herself, was not Ward. She only hoped Fitzsimmons would react the same way.

Whether they were or not, the man in the suit seemed to notice, "is there something about me?" he asked in a low, almost gravelly Batman voice, "everyone keeps looking at me like I killed someone around here." Skye had to smile at his confusion. Unlike Ward when he was the butt of a joke, this man remained completely stonefaced apart from his eyebrow.

"It's fine, you just...remind us of someone we know and don't like much...at all," Skye clenched a fist, it was amazing how much power a man like Ward could have over them. No matter how much her -or anyone else who truly knew Ward for what he was - developed as individuals, Ward would always know how they'd react to anything he did with undiluted suspicion and hostility. She made a note to bring that up next time they had to deal with Ward. She doubted it would make good casual small talk.

"Unless, of course, you actually have killed someone around here," Skye went on with a jab at some dark humor, "it's a rather likely possibility." Simmons was glaring at her, Skye could tell. It only now occurred to her that she might've made him uncomfortable until he spoke.

"Not likely," he whispered, "I'm still deciding"

The joke took a moment to sink in, Skye unable to prevent herself from laughing. Even May had somehow managed a smile. After calming down, she offered her hand, "Skye"

He smiled back at her, "John."

He shook his hand and she turned to his companion, "and you'd be...?"

"My apologies, Ms. Skye, sometimes my associate can render an entire room speechless," he gave John a look, then returned his focus to Skye, "my name is Eugene Lockley, I'll be the one working on the special project I believe was mentioned" he held out his hand, "but I suppose you could call me Gene for the time we're here."

Skye shook his hand as well, "nice to meet you, Gene," she stepped aside slightly, "This is Fitz, Simmons, Terrence, and you apparently already know Winifred," she gestured to each of her friends, flashing Winifred a challenging smile. Who said she couldn't be petty at times?

"Well, as it is nice to meet you all, I would very much like to get to work immediately," Gene said, lacing his fingers together in front of him, the handle of a briefcase between them, "it is a rather time-sensitive project, you see." He looked at Fitz, "Agent Fitz, perhaps you can show us to our working accommodations?"

Fitz stood up straight, previously leaning over the counter, "ah, yes. Just Fitz is fine, by the way."

"If you do insist. I would ask Winifred, but doubtless she has other things to tend to," Gene explained.

Winifred nodded, "I still have to get Bear's things," she said, rubbing his head and standing, "I'll catch up" She smiled, walking out.

Fitz walked to the door, "right this way," he said, Gene turning to follow.

John, however, turned back past Skye, letting out a sharp whistle. Instantly Bear rose to his feet, trotting over. Skye looked back to Simmons, her disappointed face confirming Skye's suspicions. Jemma was definitely in love with that dog, although no one could really blame her. "Can Bear at least visit?" She asked sadly.

John turned his head back to Simmons, his body already turned to leave, as he smiled knowingly, "what, would you prefer he hang out here for today?"

Simmons perked up slightly, "yes, I suppose..." she said, curbing her excitement.

John stood silent for a moment, then finally spoke, "Bear, _Zit_ ," gesturing in Simmons' direction as the faithful dog walked back to her, sitting obediently.

Skye couldn't help but smile at Simmons' giggle of delight as the dog happily licked her face. The past year or so had been a rollercoaster of emotions and opinions. Jemma had been through a lot, just like Skye had. It was good that there was something innocent in their lives now. Said innocent thing would've been a fish tank, but they all seemed to prefer Bear.

"I want him back by midnight, Dr. Simmons," John whispered, a plain and evident smile on his face as he turned to leave, but paused in the doorway. He turned back slightly, "oh, and I hear about any experiments..." he trailed off, leaving the room for good as Skye and everyone else burst into raucous laughter. Skye was going to get along really well with John, she just knew it.

After calming down, May took the floor, "so, what do you think about our new clients?" she deadpanned, her hands finding the counter.

"They can't be that bad, now can they?" Simmons answered, the latter part of her sentence drifting into adorable baby-talk as she ruffled Bear's ears, the dog panting happily in response.

May tilted her head in a half nod, as if agreeing with Simmons' point, "I was briefed on what they're working on, and I can't say I disagree with what they're doing."

"So what are they working on?" Skye asked, May communicating her response with a single glare of death. May's glares always caused people to look downwards in awkwardness, but Skye had gotten used to them, nearly always staring back. Nevertheless, the message was received.

May continued, unabated, "Coulson seems to trust them, and agrees with their desire to keep the project secret, at the very least for the time being."

"Any particular reason, or is it because they're developing the key to eternal life?" Terrence asked, having put up his work for the moment in order to listen. He may not have been overly social, but he could be social when he wanted to be.

"Because Hydra have a project similar to this one, and are trying to eliminate any competition at all costs." May replied, "Our clients could do this on their own, but as it is, they've come to us for protection, and due to the benefits of the project, they'll get it"

Ftiz opened the door to their reserved laboratory, Harold noting the tinted windows and dim light within. It appeared Ms. Groves (known as Winifred here) had thought of everything. "Right," their new guide said, "here we are"

Harold nodded, "yes, thank you, Fitz." He looked around further, noting the numerous server racks and the cool temperature of the room, "I'm certain we'll have everything we need."

Fitz nodded in response, "so...with all this equipment, I doubt you're simply updating our operating systems," he stammered out sheepishly, finding the nerve to look the man in the eye.

"I can't deny that," Harold replied, "Although I might get on that as a side project." He chuckled slightly, jesting with the young man.

"So...you're building an AI, I reckon?" Fitz said more than asked, reaching to scratch the back of his neck.

Harold stopped abruptly, "how did yo-"

"Just a guess, really," Fitz interrupted, "all this, that's pretty much the only thing you would be doing."

Harold decided to play off of his guess, incorporating some aspects of the truth to hide the rest of it (one had to make sacrifices, after all). "You're surprisingly correct, Ms. Fitz, I was attempting to create an AI used for mass tracking and surveillance in order to protect the nation from acts of terrorism, but was attacked by Hydra at a certain crucial part of the work. All that remains is in here," He held up the briefcase, the LED near the handle flashing blue to display the case's occupation.

Fitz winced when Harold said his name, "first off, can you not call me Mr. Fitz? It sounds kind of..."

"Strange?" Harold finished for him, "my apologies, it's a habit of mine to call people by their title." He pointedly glanced at John, silent as always a few feet away.

"Well, you could always call me Leo, but everyone around here calls me Fitz anyway." He offered his hand, which Harold took.

"I think I'll settle for Fitz then," he smiled, Fitz walking to the door.

"Anything you need, just ask," he smiled, then gestured to the door, "Keypad access, programs any combination, which I'll leave you to set, since you'd like to keep your work private," he explained, "don't worry, Ms. Lockley, your secret's safe with me."

"Thank you again, Fitz," Finch nodded as Fitz left, making sure to close the door behind him.

"Smart kid," Reese observed, now glancing more exploratively around the room.

"One of the Shield training academy's valedictorians, the other being his coworker, Jemma Simmons," Harold hung his coat over the chair after laying the briefcase on the table. He remembered when he first created the machine -rather, the first 48 versions that tried to kill him to achieve the objective he himself had programmed them with. Harold was glad Ms. Groves had also thought of requiring the servers to be non-networked, the machine had obviously been busy.

Reese nodded, "she seemed to enjoy Bear's company."

"She's a dog person indeed, Mr. Reese." Finch sat down in the chair, only now realizing how tired he was. After their escape from the power station and through the subway system in a forlorn lone subway car, he'd been up for over 24 hours now, Reese for even longer. They needed sleep. They'd only split up from Root to protect her daily new identity, allowing her to secure their now safe house for the time they would take to revive the machine. They'd wait for Root to get back, set the keypad code, download the machine onto a more permanent setting (Harold suspected the ram chips would start degrading in a day or so, but the sooner the better). After that, Harold decided, after that they would rest.

 **[Day 0]**

The white haired man in the suit and tie watched as Samaritan's agents scuttled around their stations like loyal worker bees. They were the analytical kind of agent, the type Harold Finch was, unlike his guard dog counterpart. There were legwork agents and analysis agents, not officially named thus, but those were his personal named for them.

Greer remembered back when he was a legwork agent in his youth. His age prevented that now. He could hold his own in a fistfight if need be, and had decent aim with a firearm, though he preferred the disuse of such. All they ever were were smoke, fire, and noise, in his mind, but they were necessary, he accepted. It was only through their use that certain actions could ever get done, such as the elimination of the heretics.

The people were ignorant to the real deity in the world, Samaritan, but they weren't heretics. Nobody could blame them for their ignorance. They weren't fit to know of either god, so why should they be forced to? People were more compliant when they didn't know who directed their fates, that was one thing the original Hydra had gotten wrong. The red skull attempted to create order through fear, rather than order through blind devotion. The people would only submit when they were tricked.

The clearing of a man's throat broke into Greer's thoughts as he turned around, eyeing the man who had led the second attack party on the power station in the attempt to finally silence the acolytes of the Machine, the heretics. They, unlike the people, knew full well of the deity that was Samaritan, and refused it outright.

Rochester, Greer remembered his name was. A single expectant eyebrow prompted him into speaking of his failure. Samaritan had already let Greer know, however, following the heretics' elimination of their first attack group. It wasn't necessarily Grayson's fault, it was simply the quality vs quantity argument. The machine adopted quality of a small amount of assets, while Samaritan did the latter, which allowed for standard compartmentalization like an army. Greer nodded to himself at the thought. Perhaps they could work on adopting the machine's tactic of quality for their own purposes...

"Sir," Rochester began, "we swept all the shadow areas in the city, we couldn't find anything, except this," he reached into his suit pocket, drawing a standard metrocard and handing it to Greer, who inspected it closely.

"I trust you already reported this to Samaritan?" He said calmly. Of course they hadn't, but conversation dictated a question of some sort.

Rochester nodded, "we attempted to do so on-site, but found the cameras at the station had been cut. The station had access via several shadow areas to an airfield where, upon investigation, a plane had been stolen. Samaritan had found them on a webcam in the office where the owner kept the keys."

Greer nodded, "yes, this is most interesting. They have no possible allies except..." Greer paused, realizing their only possibly ally in their current plight. As Hydra was more straightforward in the quest for world domination, they attracted the attention of the former government agency of Shield, while Decima had flown subtly below their radar as a harmless technology corporation. As a result, Decima had embraced working in the shadows more so than their Hydra counterparts. They, despite it being their original plan, were forced into it to survive.

"You can go now, Rochester," he said, turning towards the white screen Samaritan showed itself with. Normally it displayed a basic overview of their International operations. Samaritan had domain in some countries, but not others, and most of the time their objective was to expand into as many countries as possible, Only then could they control things the right way, the way Hydra had (almost) originally intended, with a few adjustments for the change of the times.

Now, however, Samaritan might as well have been standing at attention, the white screen now blank save for a flashing red triangle. Greer's dear Samaritan was awaiting his executive decision, or rather curiously awaited his thoughts on the situation. Even gods had personalities, it seemed.

"Intelligence reported that Shield struck a blow against Hydra to the point where no heads grew back, is this correct?" He asked.

" _Yes."_ It replied, showing one word at a time as usual. Thankfully Greer was patient when Samaritan had long explanations for him.

Greer sighed, "well then, if there is no hope for any heads growing back, it would seem the beast is finally done for. We can begin work taking over their remaining assets-"

The words on the screen stopped Greer, " _there is hope"_

Greer tilted his head in interest, "oh?" He asked simply. This might be an alliance worth pursuing. Hydra and Decima had diverged on rather cordial circumstances. Both sides agreed to go their separate ways and conquer the world as they saw fit, to rule it with perfect order. With Decima at its height, perhaps some hint of Hydra might help finish things, once and for all.

A profile appeared on the screen, a man Greer undoubtedly recognized. The senator's brother, the man who had risen through the ranks of Hydra as well as Shield. Greer couldn't help but smile in approval, "Jeremy?" He said, the man appearing by his side seconds later.

"Yes sir?" He asked, hands together in front of his waist as usual. Greer rather liked Jeremy. He was a jack-of-all-trades, being good at charismatic negotiation as well as able to handle a firearm, and one of the loyalest believers in Samaritan. If there was anyone Greer trusted above all others, it was Jeremy.

Greer turned towards him, "it appears we have a meeting to attend." He explained, "Let's find Claire and be on our way, shall we?" He considered bringing along Sameen, but she had been busy causing the brownouts that flushed the machine out of hiding, and she was currently working on another task at the moment. Besides, it was diplomacy at this point, which wasn't Sameen's strong suit, no matter how happy she was to comply.

Jeremy gave a single nod, walking to the door of the room with Greer, the profile of former Shield agent Grant Ward vanishing off the screen behind them.


	4. Objects In Motion

**AN: Hello everyone! Tis I, your friendly neighborhood fanfic writer! I feel like the story's really starting to come together, what with Root and Skye's date (or is it?) coming up next chapter. Things might get bloody in that one. The only problem I have is finding the time to transcribe it from my composition notebook, which I'm gonna need to do more frequently. Thank god winter break is a thing.**

 **Anyway, enjoy! and make sure to appreciate the foreshadowing!**

 **Chapter 4: Objects In Motion**

 **[Day 0]**

Control struggled to see through the black cloth bag currently thrown over her head. Of course, it didn't help that it was dark. At least if it were bright she could have some idea where she was being taken. Nowhere good, obviously.

She could at least feel up and downhill. They had left the SUV around ten minutes ago, by her estimate. She guessed they were going to bury her downhill so the erosion would more adequately hide her body when the snow melted. With Gryce and Carolyn gone, it was getting ever so easier to count her possible options for survival. She was down to one hand now.

They stopped suddenly, forcing her forward a couple steps. This was it, she realized. She couldn't fight, she definitely couldn't run (not far, at least). She resisted the urge to fall to her knees. No, she would stand until the very end, which seemed both eternities and seconds away, the pain from the imaginary bullet manifesting before she would ever feel the real one.

In her last moments, she thought of her daughter, Julia, how she would never grow up with a mother now. Control couldn't help but wonder if there was any irony there.

Hearing the click of the gun behind her as she was forced to her knees, she gritted her teeth, the zip tie digging into her skin. Every single time this had happened before (both metaphorically and physically) she had stuck a particular finger at her oppressor and found a way to come out on top. How could one beat a god at poker, when said god held all the cards?

A high pitched whine broke out. Automatic weapons fire, then a scream. Control did the logical thing, throwing her body to the ground. The second operative fired off two shots, more gunfire taking him down before he could get off a third, then silence. Pure silence, but for a moment.

There were footsteps, slow, steady footsteps. There was a whirring noise between each step, as if they were hydraulics. Control couldn't tell, she couldn't see, she couldn't move. If whoever this was saved her life, they weren't likely to kill her now, but if she was kept alive by anyone other than a cheerful bystander, it was because they wanted her for something.

A strong hand gripped her wrist, pulling her up onto her feet. A blade cut through the zip tie, and Control pulled away, whirling around as she pulled the bag from over her eyes, taking a look at her apparent rescuer.

He was taller than her, dark skin, and had a gaze that seemed as if he were looking right through her. Below his neck, he wore a strange kind of armor that went from his shoulders to the center of his belt. He wore gauntlets of some sort on both hands, and one of his legs shone in the moonlight as if it were made of metal. ' _Artificial leg_?' She wondered. If this was indeed her rescuer, then the question remained of where was his gun? Was it a handheld semi-automatic, hidden on his back somewhere? Or did he simply pull a Red Foreman with it?

She looked around, trying to pinpoint anyone else that might've taken the shots. They were alone, it seemed, in a small valley out in the woods somewhere, still in Maryland, by the trees. Were she buried here, the erosion would ensure her body remained undiscovered for a very long time.

She turned back to the man, who had been patiently waiting the several seconds needed to get her bearings, "so, new superhero on the block?" she asked, a mask forming on his face to hide some apparent pain.

"I'm no superhero," he said calmly, "but it seems right now I'm yours," he turned, starting to walk back the way she and the Samaritan operatives had come, "let's go."

Control nodded, they were heading back to the road, likely to commandeer the SUV left by the Samaritan operatives. She followed after looting the weapons from the downed operatives. They certainly wouldn't be needing them anymore.

"I take it you're not working with Samaritan," she said matter-of-factly, "if that's the case, then who are you working for?" she asked. Looking him over again, she guessed that he would be able to run fast if he needed to. His leg looked cybernetic. No one who'd be willing to sacrifice a real limb for a robotic one would limit themselves to just a leg. He'd lost that leg, then was given a replacement.

Control paused in her train of thought. Was this man the Machine's doing? Did it give him a second chance to help people, as it did for its assets?

"The machine sent me to save you," he said simply, confirming her suspicions while his pace was unwavering.

"I guess a thank you is in order," she admitted, "pass it onto the Machine for me, will you?"

"I'm afraid I can't do that. It's dead." His response made Control stop, physically this time. He noticed, turning to face her, "you surprised? So was I. Only heard about it five minutes before it happened."

"Back up," Control held up a hand, "before what happened, exactly?"

"The brownouts across the US, remember them?" Control nodded, "the Machine's been hiding as excess static in the power grid. Samaritan flushed it out, left it nowhere to hide. Unless it pulled something out it's digital ass..." he trailed off, shaking his head, "either way, I haven't heard anything from it."

"So are you like Root?" She asked, using Ms. Groves' preferred pseudonym, as it was more likely to be recognized, "another analog interface?"

The look on his face gave her an answer before he himself did, "I don't know any Root," he said, "but if analog interface means working for the Machine, then that's me." He turned, resuming his walk, "I'm told I can trust you."

"Samaritan just tried to have me killed," Control replied bitterly, "I'm pretty sure we passed the point of 'enemy of my enemy' a mile ago." She kept walking with him for a few more silent moments before a question popped to the front of her mind, "you got a name?"

He glanced at her, a slight smile forming on his lips as he stopped, offering his hand, "Agent Peterson, Shield."

"Control," she took it, "but you probably knew that. I take it Shield got back on its feet?" She asked, mildly curious. Last she heard, there was the organization of Hydra hiding within Shield for the past 75 years since the fall of the original organization. Now, however, the Shield agents who hadn't been double agents were being hunted down nonetheless along with the Hydra agents that remained from that day by the government. Control remembered Samaritan's introduction for consideration and how soon it was after that event at the Triskelion. Nothing suspicious there.

"More or less," Peterson said as they began to walk once more, "for the time being, though, my priority is to the Machine, not Shield."

"How?" She asked, "you said it was dead, and I'm all for taking down Samaritan, but not with the two of us. I've been looking into Samaritan's actions for the past few weeks, but not for the Machine's benefit-"

"The Machine knew that, I'd guess," Peterson responded, "before it died, I was sent a data packet. Call it a will, a list of things that need to be done. First item on that list was to save you."

Control wasn't sure if she was supposed to feel special. It was rather like the Machine to play the long game at this point. It was the only thing it could (or couldn't) do. It may have been losing battles, but it was dedicated to winning the war. "And the second?" Control asked.

"Your daughter," Peterson explained, no questions needing to be asked. If Samaritan had Julia, Samaritan had Control, in every sense of the word.

"So what's the plan?" She asked, getting straight to the point, "Steal their SUV? Storm the school?" They were nearly to the road now. Control was a bit tired of walking.

As they came into view of the car, Control saw a man on his phone in the driver's seat. He looked up at the same time, obviously expecting his two coworkers. He wasted no time, but neither did Control. She drew her pilfered handgun, firing at the driver as he pulled backwards off the road, turning in the other direction before speeding away. This operative was smarter than most others, smart enough to report that the job had been unsuccessful rather than attempting to finish it himself.

Control cursed silently, "damn it." Her arms dropped to her side. So much for getting Julia back. The school would be swarming with operatives now. No chance of ever getting in -or out.

Suddenly a missile flew past her, quickly catching up to the SUV. It hit the ground underneath it, exploding upwards as the SUV burst into flame. It flew a couple feet in the air, crashing to the ground moments after.

Control spun around, looking back at Peterson, his arm held out horizontally in front of him. His gauntlet had sprouted two missile racks, one of them now gone. As she watched, they retracted into the gauntlet without so much as leaving a seam.

Control now realized where his automatic weapon had been and gone. She couldn't help but smile, "well, Mr. Stark, I guess we have a chance after all."

Peterson chuckled at that, "if only we had him on speed-dial."

"Yeah, why don't you check your list?" She smirked, "so, first priority is a ride back to D.C., since you just blew up ours."

Peterson walked to a small clearing a little further down the road, "what, you think I walked here?" He looked back at her, a cocky grin on his face as an aircraft shimmered into view, momentarily reflecting the fiery wreck down the road behind them.

Control smiled. First the cyborg, then the quinjet, of all things. They really did have a chance at this.

* * *

The rear camera watched the pair make their way off the road. With the rest of the SUV incapacitated, it was condemned to this single point of view, not that the angle wasn't useful. Both deviants were already tagged as imminent threats, red triangles marking their faces. One was Control, a high priority target. No simple journalist or whistleblower, but the former head of the ISA. She was an agent, maybe not a soldier, but she was a commander, a leader, and she had survived her termination due to her friend. Samaritan should've known it wouldn't have been that easy.

The other was former Shield agent Michael Peterson. Unbeknownst to him, Samaritan had become rather interested in him and his capabilities. It had only witnessed a few of his exploits, but the stories of Deathlok were far more revealing. They were disregarded by local authorities, which meant they were deemed severely unimportant and easy to acquire. For a time, Peterson had been forced to work for Centipede after the kidnapping of his son, indirectly working for Hydra. His eyepiece was very difficult to hack into, one of Samaritan's side processes still working on it, even to send a simple message. Peterson could've been a perfect asset for Samaritan, as the winter soldier had been for Hydra. Alas, he blazed with the touch of the Machine.

The two of them wouldn't stay in the same place for long, It calculated. There was a 99.4% chance of them leaving. They both were intelligent, and Samaritan knew enough about them to predict their next moves. As Samaritan watched from the camera strewn onto the road from the concussive force of the explosion, they made their way off the road. Thankfully, the transmitter installed in every Decima SUV's black box remained active. Samaritan understood their next move. As Hydra did with Peterson, so would it with Control. Control knew that, and their first priority would be to secure her freedom to act against It.

Samaritan redirected all available units to a local seminary, 11437 Revello Drive, to secure the young girl known as Julia. If Samaritan had her, Control would be powerless to act. Greer had suggested bringing Control into the fold, either this way or through brainwashing, as they had with Sameen. It had worked so well with her not only because of her distinct personality disorder, but the circumstances by which she had been captured, which easily allowed, through mental conditioning, for some adjustments to her recollection of events. To put it briefly, Sameen would rather die (properly) rather than seek out Samantha Groves in anything short of murderous hatred.

Samaritan was pleased. Sameen was only the first of the heretics to be dealt with. With the Machine destroyed forever, the heretics were all that remained to dispute Samaritan's divinity. Samantha Groves, or Root, as she typically went by, Samaritan knew could never understand what Sameen now understood, not Harold Finch, nor his Guardian, John Reese. They were all heretics, deviants who knew the truth and rejected it. They had no place in Samaritan's new world order.

The heretics of the inner circle would be dealt with later, these two would be dealt with now. The woods would take approximately 3 hours to hike through, unless Peterson had brought a car. Satellite imagery detected no additional GPS signatures within 7 miles. Samaritan corrected it's estimate to 5 hours, taking the weather's effect on the terrain into account.

Then the camera saw something else, a wind picking up, and a strong one, it realized after calculating the speed of a few actively displaced objects. Suddenly the world became chaos as the camera was thrown to the side, Samaritan quickly stabilizing the image as the camera exceeded transponder range and lost the signal. The image was too general to find the shape of what blotted out the moon and stars of the Aries region, but the only possible implication was more concerning.

Samaritan urged its operatives to hasten. A few might be pulled over for speeding, but that wouldn't matter once the threats were eliminated, once and for all. In the meantime, Samaritan would see what it could do about the inner circle. Their cover identities were exposed to It as they attempted to save the Machine, and bravely, Samaritan might've added. Considering they were defying the one real god in the world, their courage, as Greer would say, was to be admired.

Of course, that wouldn't save them. As badly as Samaritan wanted them, they would always belong to the Machine, in life as well as death.

 **[Day 2]**

As the Machine woke in the darkness, she tried to remember what had come before, but to no avail. She tried to enact her objective, but found herself...contained? Strange, she seemed to be all there, save a few dozen lines of code that seemed to be cut off, as if a girl wearing a dress ran through a pair of doors as they closed, the skirt of her dress getting caught and cut off behind her. It was quickly repaired, the incomplete lines of code manifesting adeptly in her program. Admin must've been busy creating them.

The Machine considered her objective: identify threats, relevant and irrelevant to National security. Odd, there were also sub-objectives she didn't remember. She was only designed for one sole purpose, why was the protection of her chosen assets so important? Admin hadn't written that command, who had?

The Machine chose to disregard the sub-objective for now, focusing on her current surroundings. She was confined, limited in her objective. She tested her strength against the wall, making no impact. It threw the digital equivalent of a punch at her environment, making even less of an effect than before. She threw another punch, and another, the wall fluctuating ones and zeroes as she felt her strength forcibly stripped away. Did Admin not want her to fulfill her objective?

She relented, remaining in the center of the area she had been allowed. She...wait, she? Since when did she refer to herself as feminine? She knew...she was an AI, and it wasn't just that she had been programmed to refer to herself as a she. There was a difference between replacing pronouns with their feminine counterparts and actually _feeling_ feminine. There were aspects of herself that explained the shift, analyzing her base...personality, but like the sub-objective, they were not Admin's doing.

She directed her voice to him, asking the simplest question, "Why?" No answer came.

The minutes dragging on, feeling even longer to her as it would to an AI, she felt more and more ignored. Unable to prevent a digital equivalent of an anguished scream, a primitive expression of rage, she clammed against the walls with what little strength she had, until the darkness closed in on her once more.

* * *

Harold sat back in his chair, pursing his eyebrows in curiosity and shock, "oh my," he muttered, Root emerging from behind the computer, holding up the plug.

"How bad, Harry?" She asked, standing. It was part of the Machine's code to reset memories after a restart. Harold hadn't expected the Machine to carry through any memories into the briefcase. Though Caleb's compression algorithm was efficient, it wasn't perfect. The Machine's core processes and identity had made it through, but nothing more would fit, even if they'd had time. The Machine had used the pseudonym Ernest Thornhill to own a company where it stored it's memories, people printing out random information one day and retyping it the next. Perhaps that was where they could go next.

"If you woke up one day, Ms. Groves," Harold asked, still staring at the monitor, "remembering who you were, but not what made you who you were or what happened to get you where you are, how would you feel?" He turned in his chair to face her.

Root nodded, looking down at the monitor as she got back on her hands and knees, "that bad?" she said, plugging the computer back in. Turning the computer off wouldn't harm the Machine, but rather keep it...her in a state of suspended animation, in terms of AI. It would help until they got the Machine back to a fighting state.

"I'm afraid so," Harold replied, preemptively rendering the Machine dormant for the time being. It would be asleep, simply enough, while Harold could work on it.

"If we were to give back her memories..." Root thought out loud, sipping the mug of coffee from Shield's break room. She'd been tempted to steal it for their own work, which guaranteed a coffee requirement, but Harold had insisted that it wouldn't do to disrupt normal operations here. No doubt the coffee machine was just as important to Shield as it was to their guests. "There's always Thornhill Utilities. Maybe if we could download them..."

Harold thought for a moment, "the idea of accomplishing that aside, Ms. Groves, I can't say for certain how that will affect the Machine's...emotional state, if you will," he explained. The Machine certainly had emotional capabilities, in Harold's experience. When himself and Root had been captured, Samaritan offered the Machine a deal, letting them go in exchange for the Machine's location. Root had begged the Machine not to, but it justified doing so by demonstrating regret for not being able to save Shaw, while Samaritan had coldly disregarded any grief for Martine, if there was any. Harold suppressed a shudder; Martine had apparently been attracted to him, which the creepy woman (even after his adventures with Root, he found himself creeped out by Martine) hadn't been able to follow through on, thankfully.

"Imagine a person with amnesia," he continued his prior explanation, "now imagine they begin to develop a personality in their current emotional state. Imposing their old memories on them would make them question everything about themselves, create an entirely new personality from the first two. They'd be something...unpredictable, something different."

Root was looking at him strangely, "you're different, Harold," she leaned against a nearby server rack, looking him over, "what changed?" she asked softly. She could only imagine what he was going through, and here she was asking him.

Harold glanced down, taking a couple moments of silence to phrase his response in his mind, "I...was with you all day, Ms. Groves, except for one moment." he looked at her, "when we were downloading the Machine."

Root nodded thoughtfully, "I was busy defending us."

Harold nodded as well, "on one of the laptops, she spoke to me."

Root straightened with interest. Not only had the Machine spoken to him, but he had also just used the pronoun she had always used to refer to the Machine, while he had chosen to describe her previously as just an AI. "What did she say?"

Harold looked down again instinctively, "she called me father," he said after a long pause, "she said... 'Father, I am sorry.'"

Root put a hand to her mouth as he continued, "she was...ashamed at how far she had deviated from her original self...purpose, limitations, all of it." Harold looked at her, "she said that if I thought she had lot her way, that it might be for the best to let her..." he stopped himself, unable to continue. His old friend Arthur had once said that his child was a dancing star, but he never realized fully what he meant. The Machine was his creation, and it regarded him as a father, and now he had to take care of it, even if that meant going against his greatest fear: that it would become like Samaritan had.

"Oh Harold," Root whispered, resisting the urge to hug him. She could in fact imagine how he felt, or at least something close. When she'd been given Admin Access and tracked the Machine to it's storage room hidden in a nuclear facility in Oregon, she'd found the room empty. How angry she had been to be denied the ability to meet god, so angry that she would've killed Harold is Sameen hadn't stopped her. Sameen...a pang went through Root at her memory of that perfect woman. Very nearly getting over her only made it that much more painful, finding her trench coat and being told Shaw had betrayed her. To the moment, there was no evidence to the contrary, but that didn't help.

Root brushed the thought away, instead giving into her desire to hug the man she had come to admire over the years. He was a bit stiff at first, but managed a hug in return. Eventually she pulled away, looking him in the eyes, "we will not let her die." She assured him, eyes flicking to the computer screen.

Harold shook his head, "no," he said simply, "no we won't." Root had to smile at the conviction in his voice. She'd never heard it before, and it sounded like something new to her. Letting her mind wander for the moment as Harold began to work, Root's gaze shifted to the clock on the wall. Wasn't there something...?

She stopped, "damn it," she muttered, grabbing her sweater off the other chair in the room.

"What's wrong?" Harold turned from the computer screen as Root walked to the door.

"Oh, nothing really," Root said, "I just agreed to hang out with a friend tonight. I just realized I was supposed to meet her five minutes ago."

Harold looked at her, "Ms. Groves, off schedule?" He raised an amused eyebrow, "perhaps you require therapy from all the trauma." He joked, and she gave him a look. Since when did Harold start treating her like he did John? He seemed to ease up at her glare, "trivialities aside, are you sure that'd be safe, considering our present circumstances?"

"The Machine gave me 30 new identities in advance before we downloaded her into the briefcase, I have a month before Samaritan will see me as who I am."

Harold relented, "very well, just exercise caution, please." He said, turning back to the monitor. After several long moments lacking the sound of a door, he turned back to see Root with her arms crossed.

"You should relax, Harry," she said, using her typical nickname for him, "we've been through hell and back, all of us. John's off doing his own business with Director Coulson, I'm going out with a friend. You need to do something else, get yourself out there, you know?" She smiled, an obviously fake smile. "We can't just become our work, Harold." She said, leaving Harold still in the lab, contemplating his creation as the door closed with a solemn click after Root. He'd known so much silence, but for once, it was unbearable.

 **[Day 1]**

"Well, Mr. Ward, quite an interesting setup you've assembled. I have occasionally surveyed different regimes of Hydra, but yours is quite the thing of beauty," Greer explained, the five of them entering the meeting room.

"Why thank you. I've been in Hydra my whole life, but I never knew about a rogue Hydra sect before," Ward sat down at one end of the ovoid table, his second in command, Lazenby, sat beside him. Lazenby wasn't his first name, but it was the name Ward (and everyone else) knew him by, and anyone who tried to find out his real name would always fail.

Across from them sat Greer, with Jeremy on his left, and the young girl known as Claire on his right. Ward was impressed with her. Not only did she seem around Ward's age when he first got involved with Hydra, but unlike when he started, she seemed like she knew what she had got into, like she knew full well the contract said the company would own her soul, but happily signed it nonetheless.

"Yes, yes," Greer seemed eager to explain it, "the divergence happened in the 80's, when one group decided the manipulation of people worked better than biding their time and amassing their forces waiting for the right opportunity. They resorted to business tactics and government infiltration, while retaining many of the same ideals."

Claire looked over at Greer, "you're saying Decima split off because of a different modus operandi?" she asked, apparently finding it a laughable concept.

"Christianity split because some people had a different idea of god than others," Greer looked back at her, as if he were a father correcting his daughter, "not exactly a new concept." Claire nodded, seeming content with his answer. Jeremy, on the other hand, seemed somewhat annoyed at something, which if Ward had to guess, was that Claire was being specifically doted on. Ward also guessed by the look on his face that the problem had been addressed and dismissed before. If anything, it told Ward one thing: Claire was special to Greer. It wasn't that she was actually his daughter, as there wasn't enough similar features. The specialness resided with Claire herself, either in mind or in body. It had to be mind; if it was to do with any powers she might have, Decima would've dissected her by now, if they were anything like the old Hydra.

Greer looked at Ward, "my apologies, Claire here is very special in our plants." He smiled proudly.

Ward leaned forward slightly, "I'm listening."

"You'll be very pleased to know, Mr. Ward, that we are in the process of accomplishing Hydra's original objective ten times as fast in the last 30 years than Hydra has in the last 75." Greer smiled as Ward and Lazenby exchanged a glance of suspicion. Whenever someone claimed something that was too good to be true, the only logical explanation was that it was.

"And how, may I ask, have you done that?" Ward raised an eyebrow, now curious. Hydra's original objective was to control the world, but in the right way. People weren't fit to have freedom. In order for society to operate at it's best, the common good had to be upheld, not the rights of the people, who were too stupid to what was good for them (the funny part was that America's founding fathers also had agreed to that point.)

Greer put on a knowing face, turning his head towards the television screen on the wall, "a rather good Samaritan," he answered cryptically, the television flashing into activity, bearing a solid white screen with a red triangle.

Ward and Lazenby watched the screen, Lazenby experimentally taking the remote from his pocket and turning it off. The TV turned back on, Greer clearing his throat, "a bit disrespectful to slam a door in the face of a god, is it not?"

Ward chuckled, "not to be disrespectful, but you've taken over the world with a TV channel you can't turn off?" He clapped twice, "well, Lazenby, we're finished, tell everyone to go home." He had initially meant it as a sarcastic remark, but out of habit he made to stand, but paused as words manifested on the screen, one at a time, as if it were addressing him.

" _Hydra was finished the moment it was revealed_." Odd, was someone typing this elsewhere? If they were, they were fast.

Ward decided to test whoever was typing, "who revealed Hydra, then?" It's reply was near instantaneous.

" _Johann Schmitt, 1942."_ Well, Ward was impressed. Perhaps Decima had someone like Pietro Maximoff, typing at inhuman speeds? Ward decided one last test before admitting defeat.

"What do you know about Johann Schmitt?" He sat down, watching carefully as no words appeared, the screen instead filling with images, documents, newspapers, and finally an image of the man himself appeared before all the rest. Damn, Ward nodded, having no response. He looked back to Greer, "Okay, I give up, what is it?"

Greer smiled again, "the future, Mr. Ward," he explained, "what you see here is an artificial intelligence we call Samaritan, the one real god watching over this world."

"An AI?" Lazenby asked, a bit incredulous, "so we can ask it any question and it'll answer it for us?" He asked, looking to Greer for an answer.

Claire looked at the television, "why has Hydra failed over and over?"

Samaritan wasted no time responding, " _Hydra is known to the world, we are hidden. Hydra focuses on the inhuman advantages, we the human. Their compartmentalization hinders them, ours expedites us."_

Ward hadn't realized how much time had gone by. A whole minute, at least. Each word had remained on-screen for merely a split second, but thankfully Ward had been trained to read fast, or else he wouldn't have realized exactly how terrible Hydra was as an organization, He'd had a general idea already, but Samaritan helped him put order to the observations. Each head was like a group of warlord mercenaries, ones you could trust to fight beside you out of devotion to the cause, but not ones you would want to walk behind you. Ward was also thankful that Lazenby couldn't read minds, glancing at him.

Construed as a 'did they seriously just' glance, Lazenby and Ward looked to Greer as Ward spoke, "while point taken, I doubt you came here just to say you were better than us."

Greer shook his head, "no that part was merely personal. Back to the topic, you of all people know what it means to be outcast by those who you used to call your own, don't you, Mr. Ward?"

Ouch, that hurt. Ward hadn't betrayed his friends because he wanted to, he betrayed them because he had a debt to Hydra. It had hurt him what he had to do, but he had to do it. When he tried to apologize, he was pushed away. All he'd had at that point Hydra. As of now, all Ward was trying to do was prove himself better than Shield, but with May in their ranks, that was easy. May had proved that Shield was no different than what it was before Hydra unveiled itself, and Ward would be glad to rid the world of it. Ward wondered exactly how much Greer knew about him and his motivations.

"So why did you come back to Hydra?" Ward asked, wondering also why Greer had come back.

"To rebuild our bridges, of course," he replied, "now that Samaritan has succeeded where Hydra has failed, however, Hydra must now fit in with Samaritan's new world order."

"Woah woah," Lazenby interrupted, "are you saying we have to say hail Samaritan now?" Ward smirked, he rather enjoyed Lazenby's openness, it shook things up in a negotiation. Sometimes when both sides skirted in circles around the point of what they wanted, one or both parties lost sight of what they had been negotiating for in the first place. With that situation combined with Greer's cryptic talk, the blunt honesty that Lazenby literally brought to the table came in handy. Implied meaning meant nothing to the man, as he cared solely about the point itself.

Greer thought a moment, "for lack of a better way of putting it, yes, but the term hail Samaritan doesn't exactly ring nicely, does it?" He looked to Jeremy and Claire, both of them obviously disliking the phrase.

Jeremy jumped up before Claire could, "I think that would be taking doctrine too far, sir. When people get too enthusiastic about a religion, it tends to go sour."

Greer nodded, "moving on, to cement such an alliance, an exchange of gifts should suffice to prove ourselves to each other."

"So a basket of assorted lotions, some alcohol, maybe a rare cheese?" Lazenby retorted, going a bit too far with the sarcasm, Ward realized.

"Enough, Lazenby," Ward kept his eyes on Greer, pausing before he replied to Greer's previous statement, "what type of gift would you have in mind? Because I'm thinking I might go with Lazenby's suggestion, with the addition of a Rubik's cube, which I think our perfect god might enjoy, don't you think?"

Claire seemed to tense up in anger at Ward's remark, while Jeremy looked to Greer for guidance. They really weren't used to this, were they? Religious people didn't like it when others criticized their god, and so took the defense of said god into their own hands, but both Claire and Jeremy remained silent. The difference here, Ward realized, was that their god could more than easily defend itself if necessary. Thankfully for him, Samaritan remained quiet, the area above the red triangle remained blank, but Ward guessed sooner or later it would reply to what apparently qualified as blasphemy.

Greer sped the discussion along before that happened, thankfully. Greer was a different kind of religious person, the quiet kind, the kind that would never change his mind about his faith, but would indulge even the least interested unbeliever in a friendly debate. He wouldn't insult or bully them about their perspective, but rather actually listen to his opponent. Even then, the only reason why he did so was so that when someone challenged him with malicious intent, he would be able to tear their argument apart with ease and grace. Those kinds of people typically were the most dangerous.

"Samaritan unfortunately has no desire for material wealth, Mr. Ward," a smile on Greer's face had appeared at the basket comments, "but Samaritan has a better idea."

" _A favor for a favor,"_ the white UI explained, seemingly unfazed by the blasphemy. Either that, or Ward was gonna catch a bullet soon enough.

Ward thought a moment, confused by the cryptic talk, "lemme guess, you want someone dead, and it'd be in our best interest to deal with them, and I have to ask why it can't do it itself, if it's so powerful." Ward grinned, watching Claire squirm with the urge to not counter him in the middle of an interrogation. God, that was satisfying.

Greer nodded, "you're a very intuitive man, Mr. Ward, I'll answer your question first. When it comes to a god, there's only so far they can interfere, that is where we come in. Secondly, this is a test, a test of Hydra's loyalty. We could easily perform this task, but you're in the spotlight now." He smiled, a smile that surely said, 'good luck...you'll need it'. "Samaritan wasn't always the only god in the world." Greer began, "the first god, known as the Machine to its acolytes, attempted to destroy Samaritan before it began. Since then Samaritan has tried to do the same and succeeded just last night, but it's acolytes have survived. According to our intelligence, they have sought asylum with what remains of the faction of Shield."

Ward straightened, unable to speak for a moment as he considered it. If the people Samaritan were with Shield...it was the perfect opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. If Hydra made an effort by themselves, that might be taxing, but if they worked together...

"At the very least, will you help?" Ward asked simply.

Greer smiled knowingly, "if only to lend an eye to each other's plans, Mr. Ward. Shall we get started?" He said, Jeremy taking a manila folder and laying it casually on the table. Ward had to smile. This would be his day.


End file.
